had to get this out or i'd go mad
I finally slept last night, a good nine hours. I guess that’s normal, although I would’ve preferred to sleep fourteen. I’ve barely slept in four days-my psychiatrist put me on a painkiller med called Neurontin; maybe that’s helping? I also feel more numb inside. More crazy? More paranoid? But I slept.
I was afraid of going to sleep, of letting go of myself, my thoughts or whatever. Afraid that if I lost control I would spiral away and vanish. I did.
I don’t know if these alien (stupid word) ideas are reality or not. My meeting with Hayes, the blind date, was indescribable; damn kid knocked me off my feet. I haven’t wanted to leave my apartment, more psychosomatic pain, terrible terrible visionary experiences. Have I been communicating with other species; are there aliens on this planet? Is that insane? Nope.
I have become desperate about losing time. Sometimes I travel into another world, a blue-green place where my spiritual body crosses over, leaves the dimensions here; rather, I have no thought and am captivated by a language I do not understand. Time passes there differently; I open my eyes and hours have passed and I cannot remember what has taken place in my mind.
It’s as if my head is being opened, taken apart, and returned to me. I am stacked correctly, if I am correct.
I have never been normal. I mean, my mind has never made sense to me. What I do with others is to try and see myself through their eyes-Make me make sense!! Please! Take me away from myself! With Hayes-with Hayes, he was different, too, more different than anyone I’ve met. Than all the mystics or visionaries I’ve met in my life, and I’ve met a handful. He was unemotional and weird and fascinated with me. I fear this encounter has tapped into a piece of myself I have been afraid of and have never understood, a sort of blind spot/black hole/lacuna-spot. I have a memory from elementary school: we paper-clipped squares of construction paper over plant leaves-weeks later, we took the paper off and there had been no growth, on the leaf was left an imprint.
My mind keeps going back to when we were messing around. It was odd. He thought “I wasn’t looking forward to this” and he scooped up my eyelids with his tongue. Flip, flip. My eyes don’t feel right anymore, like air has gotten inside.
This is all in my mind. Really. Reality is imaginary.
I have wondered for a long time, what does one own in this Universe? I think relationships with others are a bridge between worlds-do I exist? Do you? Language is also a bridge, of kinds. Reach me and I’ll give you exactly what you need. What do you need? Here, I’ll give you this, put me in your pocket.
Believe in knowledge love and predictability. Truth is amorphous; we come and go, we have for centuries and nothing much is new; idea is new? Did we discover idea, or does idea discover us? We hold these truths to be self-evident!!!
In Reality I am moving to Iowa in a week and a half. Yesterday I gave Dan my release of my apartment. I’ve been here three years. I’ve made a home. I’ve been saying goodbye-to my friend/ex John who is wonderful. To Zach, who spent the night 2 nights ago; I’ll see him again before I leave.
I’m terrified of saying goodbye to my therapist Patricia-the idea is overwhelmed with sadness. This will be the hardest part of my move. She has been my lifeline and support for all these years. Since I’m leaving in two weeks, I’ll have three or so more sessions with her. I won’t know how to say goodbye.
Basically, since meeting Matt, then Hayes, then extraordinarily quickly the decision to move, I’ve come to an almost complete standstill inside. I have not wanted to move-that is, leave my apartment-that is, move my body at all. When I go out I am stared-at and honked-at and smiled at and glared at, and ogled oogled ogggled, o the vision girl in lovely bubble, etcetera. I’ve been staying inside, and trying to rest and find balance but too much is happening in these worlds. My mind feels crumbled. I haven’t been meditating, and I’ll start that up again if I can. Set up a check with Ros. When I’ve been meditating, since meeting Hayes, I’ve been attacked. That is, unbearable and unexplainable pains in my body: my neck, my feet. I shiver, my mind resists, piercing pain in my brain. There’s a triangle of black. Aunt Cindy told me if it doesn’t feel good, don’t do it! So I haven’t been meditating, and my mind has still been a mess. I think my uncle David would tell me to keep at it and I need to “release the accumulated stresses.” I did meditate this morning upon waking. It was okay-bearable-improved, at any rate. My thoughts, I felt at times, were being erased or taken away, and I would return to myself freaked-out and nervous. Return to the mantra.
I am so scared of time passing. I am so nervous about this move. I’ve been putting off getting organized-that is, packing up boxes, cleaning, etcetera. My body has been inert; ennui has taken over; I have wanted to retreat into the back of my head where I feel I’m safe but I’m not safe there, I’m not safe here; there is nothing in-between. Perhaps the in-between has only been an idea of reality, the illusion of separation.
I used to call it, like walking on the edge of a knife. Sometimes I have no choice. Things are gonna hurt, whether I fall or not. Do I try to cling, or should I let go? Can I dive? Because gravity is infallible, and the drop down is usually shorter than one believes.
Alice had a nice and rather interesting fall.
I look around me, and this place is a mess. Dirty dishes, unswept floors, clutter. In about five hours Dan is coming to take photographs for Craigslist, so I have to start moving.
My apartment has been my home and my safe place. To take it apart, my art and posters and so on, feels like dismantling a psyche. I have always been taken more with creation than destruction. I have a chance to destroy something beautiful. Ah, suicide. Let us kill our home. Are you ready?
My magnetic poetry on the fridge is magnificent. KNIFE THE VOID she says. Am I the victim or the killer of magnificence?
Hold onto me. The black spot.
She moves. Me? Does she go?
I move around myself; the black spot is away where’d I go now find her gotta find her shit shit shit I’m gone or invisible or Shot into the dark she made a mark-what is the inverted truth, the self, what’s gone is unobstructed energy. I do not know anything. I have become undone and left unfinished and I am more strange and beautiful and intense than I’d prefer. Something shot the arrow (poison arrow dart frog), not me; I swear, I had no idea what I was doing or getting myself into: here, the wound which is time. The shadow or the second-hand, the split of terror you can’t catch.
And I’m really quick.
Save me? Save time? Catch time in a bucket pan for gold now it’s time.
I have a watch. It’s broken. The sky is white which means the sun is up and down up and down up and down we turn around it, time and the sun. One cannot escape the pull.
Sort of like magnets!! Fairfield and I, the sweetest places on earth, daisies to magnets klunk klunk klunk.
I was afraid of going to sleep, of letting go of myself, my thoughts or whatever. Afraid that if I lost control I would spiral away and vanish. I did.
I don’t know if these alien (stupid word) ideas are reality or not. My meeting with Hayes, the blind date, was indescribable; damn kid knocked me off my feet. I haven’t wanted to leave my apartment, more psychosomatic pain, terrible terrible visionary experiences. Have I been communicating with other species; are there aliens on this planet? Is that insane? Nope.
I have become desperate about losing time. Sometimes I travel into another world, a blue-green place where my spiritual body crosses over, leaves the dimensions here; rather, I have no thought and am captivated by a language I do not understand. Time passes there differently; I open my eyes and hours have passed and I cannot remember what has taken place in my mind.
It’s as if my head is being opened, taken apart, and returned to me. I am stacked correctly, if I am correct.
I have never been normal. I mean, my mind has never made sense to me. What I do with others is to try and see myself through their eyes-Make me make sense!! Please! Take me away from myself! With Hayes-with Hayes, he was different, too, more different than anyone I’ve met. Than all the mystics or visionaries I’ve met in my life, and I’ve met a handful. He was unemotional and weird and fascinated with me. I fear this encounter has tapped into a piece of myself I have been afraid of and have never understood, a sort of blind spot/black hole/lacuna-spot. I have a memory from elementary school: we paper-clipped squares of construction paper over plant leaves-weeks later, we took the paper off and there had been no growth, on the leaf was left an imprint.
My mind keeps going back to when we were messing around. It was odd. He thought “I wasn’t looking forward to this” and he scooped up my eyelids with his tongue. Flip, flip. My eyes don’t feel right anymore, like air has gotten inside.
This is all in my mind. Really. Reality is imaginary.
I have wondered for a long time, what does one own in this Universe? I think relationships with others are a bridge between worlds-do I exist? Do you? Language is also a bridge, of kinds. Reach me and I’ll give you exactly what you need. What do you need? Here, I’ll give you this, put me in your pocket.
Believe in knowledge love and predictability. Truth is amorphous; we come and go, we have for centuries and nothing much is new; idea is new? Did we discover idea, or does idea discover us? We hold these truths to be self-evident!!!
In Reality I am moving to Iowa in a week and a half. Yesterday I gave Dan my release of my apartment. I’ve been here three years. I’ve made a home. I’ve been saying goodbye-to my friend/ex John who is wonderful. To Zach, who spent the night 2 nights ago; I’ll see him again before I leave.
I’m terrified of saying goodbye to my therapist Patricia-the idea is overwhelmed with sadness. This will be the hardest part of my move. She has been my lifeline and support for all these years. Since I’m leaving in two weeks, I’ll have three or so more sessions with her. I won’t know how to say goodbye.
Basically, since meeting Matt, then Hayes, then extraordinarily quickly the decision to move, I’ve come to an almost complete standstill inside. I have not wanted to move-that is, leave my apartment-that is, move my body at all. When I go out I am stared-at and honked-at and smiled at and glared at, and ogled oogled ogggled, o the vision girl in lovely bubble, etcetera. I’ve been staying inside, and trying to rest and find balance but too much is happening in these worlds. My mind feels crumbled. I haven’t been meditating, and I’ll start that up again if I can. Set up a check with Ros. When I’ve been meditating, since meeting Hayes, I’ve been attacked. That is, unbearable and unexplainable pains in my body: my neck, my feet. I shiver, my mind resists, piercing pain in my brain. There’s a triangle of black. Aunt Cindy told me if it doesn’t feel good, don’t do it! So I haven’t been meditating, and my mind has still been a mess. I think my uncle David would tell me to keep at it and I need to “release the accumulated stresses.” I did meditate this morning upon waking. It was okay-bearable-improved, at any rate. My thoughts, I felt at times, were being erased or taken away, and I would return to myself freaked-out and nervous. Return to the mantra.
I am so scared of time passing. I am so nervous about this move. I’ve been putting off getting organized-that is, packing up boxes, cleaning, etcetera. My body has been inert; ennui has taken over; I have wanted to retreat into the back of my head where I feel I’m safe but I’m not safe there, I’m not safe here; there is nothing in-between. Perhaps the in-between has only been an idea of reality, the illusion of separation.
I used to call it, like walking on the edge of a knife. Sometimes I have no choice. Things are gonna hurt, whether I fall or not. Do I try to cling, or should I let go? Can I dive? Because gravity is infallible, and the drop down is usually shorter than one believes.
Alice had a nice and rather interesting fall.
I look around me, and this place is a mess. Dirty dishes, unswept floors, clutter. In about five hours Dan is coming to take photographs for Craigslist, so I have to start moving.
My apartment has been my home and my safe place. To take it apart, my art and posters and so on, feels like dismantling a psyche. I have always been taken more with creation than destruction. I have a chance to destroy something beautiful. Ah, suicide. Let us kill our home. Are you ready?
My magnetic poetry on the fridge is magnificent. KNIFE THE VOID she says. Am I the victim or the killer of magnificence?
Hold onto me. The black spot.
She moves. Me? Does she go?
I move around myself; the black spot is away where’d I go now find her gotta find her shit shit shit I’m gone or invisible or Shot into the dark she made a mark-what is the inverted truth, the self, what’s gone is unobstructed energy. I do not know anything. I have become undone and left unfinished and I am more strange and beautiful and intense than I’d prefer. Something shot the arrow (poison arrow dart frog), not me; I swear, I had no idea what I was doing or getting myself into: here, the wound which is time. The shadow or the second-hand, the split of terror you can’t catch.
And I’m really quick.
Save me? Save time? Catch time in a bucket pan for gold now it’s time.
I have a watch. It’s broken. The sky is white which means the sun is up and down up and down up and down we turn around it, time and the sun. One cannot escape the pull.
Sort of like magnets!! Fairfield and I, the sweetest places on earth, daisies to magnets klunk klunk klunk.